


Careers Day

by Fríálfurinn (DangerousCommieSubversive)



Series: This Just Keeps Happening [1]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: Children, Cross-Generational Friendship, Denial of Feelings, Fluff, Gen, Interviews, M/M, gross miscarriages of tailoring, kiddie ships as background, really exciting slide shows, villains feeling things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 04:06:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9160606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerousCommieSubversive/pseuds/Fr%C3%AD%C3%A1lfurinn
Summary: Something very strange is happening to Robbie Rotten.It starts with agreeing to help a child with a school project.A child. Helping.Because the snooty boy, Sticky or whatever, wants to interviewhimforCareers Dayand what kind of a villain would he be if he didn't take every opportunity to talk about himself? But somehow this leads toSportacusvisiting, andvolunteering to teach classes,andfeeling thingsthat aren't spite or smug self-satisfaction.That's the word. Feelings.Robbie's having feelings and he hates them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I don't even know. This was so fun. Something very strange is happening to _me._ I used to be a hard-bitten pornographer. What on earth am I becoming?

There was a horrible sound.

It was soft and rhythmic, a rapping-tapping-slapping kind of noise, but it wasn’t regular. It would start, go for a moment, and then stop; after a minute or so it would start again, go slightly longer, and then trail off.

After a lengthy, confused stare at the ceiling, Robbie realized that it was _knocking._ _Someone was knocking on his door._ Nobody _ever_ knocked on his door. Nobody ever _visited_ him. Sometimes they ended up in his house by accident, but he didn’t get _visitors._

Confused, irritated, and half-asleep, he got out of his chair, struggled up the chute, and leaned out. “What do you want?”

There was a child standing in front of him. It was the snooty one, the one with the bow-tie. “Mr. Rotten?”

“You know perfectly well who I am! What do you _want_ , why are you _here?_ I was asleep!”

“I would like to interview you for Careers Day.”

Robbie stared at him for a very long time before saying, “None of those words make sense in that order.”

The child adjusted his bow-tie, looking smug. “Careers Day at school is next week, and our assignment is to choose an adult we’re not related to and interview them about their work. And _I_ would like to interview _you._ ”

More staring. _“Why?”_

“Because you’re _interesting._ ”

“…well, that _is_ true, I’m the most interesting person in Lazy Town.” Robbie preened, then _realized_ he was preening and went back to the scowl. “But _I_ would figure that all you kids would want to interview that…that _superhero._ ”

“We can’t _all_ interview the same person.” The child looked horrified. “That would be _ridiculous,_ what would we _present?_ We’d all _know_ the same things.”

“Ah.” That did make sense. “So the pink girl is interviewing him, then.”

“Not at all. Ziggy is interviewing him, _he’s_ the one who wants to be a superhero when he grows up. Stephanie is interviewing Mr. Packet.”

“Who’s Ziggy? Is that the one with the cookies?”

The child sighed. “Mr. Rotten, I _know_ you know all of our names. You’ve known us for _years._ I’m starting to think that you just pretend to forget them out of spite.”

“Of course I do! I’m a spiteful person! If I _wasn’t_ then I wouldn’t be a villain!” Robbie was raising his voice; it made his throat hurt. He let out an irritated huff and forced himself to calm down. “All right, all right, yes, you’re Sticky, right?”

The child looked deeply offended. “ _Stingy._ Stingy Spendthrift.”

“Yes, right, Sticky, Stingy, same thing.” Robbie suppressed a groan. This was a terrible decision. He _knew_ it was a terrible decision. But he couldn’t help but be pleased that the little gremlin had even _thought_ of him, and in any case, he would have hated passing up an opportunity to show off. “I suppose I can’t let you all go around _not_ knowing how brilliant and skillful and generally amazing I am.”

Stingy’s face lit up. It was endearing, in an awful way, which he had to admit was true of most things children did when they weren’t being loud. “Does that mean I can interview you?”

“Yes, obviously.” The sun came out from behind a cloud, and Robbie winced. “But not _now._ Come back later, when I’m properly awake and I’ve had breakfast.”

“It’s two in the afternoon, though.”

“What’s your _point?_ Come back in two hours. Or tomorrow, tomorrow is good. When is this thing due? Come back tomorrow. At three. No earlier.”

* * *

 

Stingy showed up _promptly_ at three, which was horrifying. Robbie loathed promptness—not as much as Sportacus, but notably more than bananas, and _significantly_ more than apples, which could at least be drowned in sugar and cinnamon and used to make pie. He had to admit, though, knowing that someone would show up when you _told_ them to, and wait _quietly,_ was rather pleasant.

He let Stingy into the house, paused, and then said, “Did you get _taller?_ When did you get _taller?_ I thought you were only about so high.”

“Mr. Rotten, I’m _thirteen_ now.” Stingy huffed. “I haven’t been that tall since a year after Stephanie moved here. When I was _nine._ ”

“That can’t possibly be right, the pink girl’s only _been_ here for a year.”

“ _Four_ years!” Stingy’s voice cracked briefly in the middle of “four,” soaring into a nasal, childlike shrillness that Robbie realized _hadn’t_ actually been present before. Then he blushed, coughed, and adjusted his bow-tie. “You don’t keep very good track of time, do you?”

Robbie suppressed a snort. “All right, all right, I believe you—dear god, is that facial hair? Don’t grow a mustache, kid, mustaches are ridiculous.”

“Sportacus has a mustache.”

“That only proves my point!” Robbie cast about for a moment before spotting the chair that he normally sat robots in when he was working on them. He grabbed it, wheeled it over, and flung himself back into his recliner. “So, Sticky—”

_“Stingy.”_

“Right, whatever, let’s get this over with, what did you want to ask me?”

Stingy sat down primly on the other chair and rummaged in his little messenger bag for what seemed like an unnecessarily long time before producing a green notepad and a _fountain pen_. The page he opened the notepad to was covered in peculiar squiggles that didn’t look anything like _any_ language Robbie knew, or for that matter knew _of._

Robbie frowned. “What is that, why are you writing in code?”

“It’s not a code, it’s Pitman shorthand. I use it to take notes at school.”

“ _Shorthand?_ Kid, nobody uses shorthand anymore.”

“Nobody except for _me._ That’s why I _like_ it. Then nobody can read _my_ notes except _me._ ” Stingy drew his pen across the top of the page to get the ink flowing. He used green ink. His bow-tie today was also green. If nothing else, Robbie did have to admit that the kid had a clear sense of style. “Careers day interview, Robbie _Rotten,_ November _seventh…_ so, Mr. Rotten, what _do_ you do? What would _you_ say your job is?”

Robbie cracked his neck. “Villain. _Possibly_ supervillain, but just villain is fine.”

“Right, yes, _villain_ …” The green pen skipped over the paper in a series of elegant little curls and swooshes. “If you don’t mind my asking, what differentiates a _villain_ from a _criminal?_ _Is_ there a difference?”

“Yes. _Style._ ”

“I _see._ ” Stingy looking satisfyingly fascinated. “How did you _become_ a villain? Was there some sort of apprenticeship? Do you have to go to school for it?”

“Well, it’s a family business, you see. We started _out_ in crime, generations back, but we really got into the swing of the whole _villainy_ thing with my grandfather, Glanni Glæpur. Now _he_ was a _proper_ villain. Had a whole gang working for him, back when he was living in the old country, although mostly he was more a con artist than a fighter. Got run out of Latibær by a _sports elf_ in a _hot air balloon,_ probably some awful relation of Sportafreak’s.” Robbie settled back more comfortably in his chair. This was actually rather pleasant, talking to someone who actually seemed _interested_ in hearing about his star-studded family history. “So of course he went somewhere else, got rich, retired, and had my mother. _She_ has an entire squad at Interpol dedicated _just_ to tracking her movements and catching her. They never manage to _do_ it, of course, but they try.”

Stingy gaped. “What does _she_ do?”

“She’s a jewel thief. That’s how she met my father, she was removing a fairly impressive haul of diamonds that had been discovered in the coal mine he was living in at the time and they fell in love at once. He’s an engineer, he makes devices for improving the theft experience. How do you think I learned to make all these machines? Although of course the tailoring I learned from my grandfather.”

* * *

 

The interview went on for a full two hours, at the end of which Stingy said he had to go home for dinner and Robbie found himself promising that the little gremlin could come back the next day for hairstyling tips and a look at the inner workings of the disguise machine. He wasn’t quite sure how it had happened. The offer had just _come out of his mouth,_ the way other people invited friends to _dinner_ or offered to let them borrow the _lawnmower._

Something was happening to him. He didn’t know what it was, but he hated it.

He was halfway through making a batch of brownies and heating up some frozen orange chicken for his own dinner when he heard knocking again. This time it wasn’t Stingy’s quiet rap-rap-rapping, it was the confident _BANG-BANG_ of someone much larger and stronger, and it was followed by a hatefully familiar voice calling out, “Robbie! Are you there?”

Robbie scowled. “If I say no, will you go away?”

“I will if you want me to, but I _would_ really like to talk to you.”

“All right, then, come in if you’re coming in, not as if it’s locked.”

Sportacus dropped into his house with a whoosh, landed in a roll, and came up smiling. “Thank you for letting me come in, I really appreciate it.”

“I’m starting to wonder if you’re a vampire. You _could_ just come in, but you’re always asking _permission._ It’s _ghoulish._ ” The oven timer went off, and Robbie pulled out his brownies and quickly moved them from the pan to a cooling rack. He _wanted_ to cut them and eat one right away, but then they’d just fall apart, and anyway if he tried putting frosting on them when they were this hot it’d just melt. The microwave started beeping just as he’d set the brownies down, and he retrieved the little plastic tray and leaned over it with a pleased sigh, breathing in the always-satisfying scent of cheap orange sauce. “It’d explain why you’re so obsessed with getting people to eat healthy, though. Need to keep the herd in good condition so the _blood_ tastes better.”

“Robbie, don’t be ridiculous. I eat sports candy, not blood. Besides, I don’t have sharp teeth, see?” Sportacus grinned vastly, displaying a mouthful of blindingly white teeth which were, to a one, not fangs. Then, though, his enormous grin morphed into a worried frown. “Is that all you’re having for dinner? With all that sugary sauce on it?”

“Not at all. I’m also going to eat this entire pan of brownies.” Sportacus’ horrified stare just made him want to rub it in. “I may not even cut them first. I may cover the whole block in frosting and eat it by mouthfuls.”

Sportacus shuddered so hard that he went into a back somersault. “I wish you’d eat something healthy. I worry about you, you know? Anyway, I wanted to thank you for letting Stingy interview you. He hasn’t been getting along with the other kids very well lately, and when I saw him just now he looked happier than he’s been in weeks.”

“What? That can’t be right, _nobody’s_ happy after they’ve talked to me.” The orange sauce used by this particular frozen-dinner brand had a metallic, chemical tang to it. It was very satisfying. As if he was back at the family home, sitting down to dinner with his parents and grandfather.

“No, really, he was! I think more people like you than you realize. The kids miss you when you don’t show up for a while, you know.”

“That’s because they’re children and they don’t know any better.”

“I _also_ miss you when you don’t show up for a while.”

Robbie stared at him suspiciously. “Why? I’m always trying to run you out of town. You’re almost as stupid as they are.”

“Well, you know. I don’t think you actually _want_ to. Right? Being a villain without a hero to fight must be awfully boring.” The look on Sportacus’ face was cheery and friendly and entirely without guile. It was like he was some kind of space alien. “I know it’s boring to be a hero without a villain. Anyway, I’ll let you eat your…uh.” He shot the cooling brownies another worried look. “I’ll let you eat your dinner. Please pace yourself? You’re gonna get a stomach ache. Thanks again for being so nice to Stingy!”

“Pace myself,” Robbie muttered irritably as he listened to the sound of Sportacus scrambling back up the pipe. “ _Pace_ myself, he says. As if I’d waste good brownies by eating them too quickly—eeurgh.” He recoiled back from a shiny red apple that was unexpectedly sitting at the end of the counter. Sportacus had left him a _fruit._ Did the elf think it was possible to _trick_ him into eating it or something?

It was like he actually _cared._

Unnerved, Robbie ate the rest of his frozen dinner standing over the sink, threw away the tray, and slathered the brownies with a really ridiculous amount of purple frosting before cutting them. They looked very pretty arranged on the plate, at least for the two seconds that the arrangement really existed before he ate one. He carried the rest of the plate of brownies over to his chair, settled down, and lowered the television. There had to be something on that was mindless enough to drift off to sleep to—some awful reality show, maybe, or an infomercial for something nobody really needed.

As he ate his second brownie, though, his gaze drifted towards an empty display tube on the disguise machine, and he thought about how pleasant it had been to spend two hours having someone actually pay _attention_ to him.

“Dammit,” he said after he’d licked the frosting off of his fingers, and went to get his sewing machine.

* * *

 

Stingy showed up at precisely three o’clock the next day, and Robbie resolved to talk to him about punctuality. Villains never worked to anyone _else’s_ schedule. If someone told you to show up at three, you showed up at two or at four, whichever would be less convenient for them.

“Villains,” he said as Stingy was pulling out his notepad, “are _always_ on time, but only ever their own time.”

Stingy nodded enthusiastically and wrote that down. “Only ever their _own_ time…”

“Now come on, we’re going to take a look at the disguise machine.”

 “The one on the end looks _very_ small, wouldn’t that be too tight for you?”

“Yes, yes, we’ll talk about that later. Mechanics first, results after.” Robbie grabbed a screwdriver off a nearby ledge and starting popping off the machine’s maintenance hatch. “What do you know about physics? You’re not old enough to be studying that in school, are you?”

Stingy scratched his ear nervously. “I’m not very good at science. I’m much better at math.”

“Don’t be silly, science is just what happens when you take math and _throw_ it at things. Here, get over here. No drawings, I’ve got _patents_ on some of these, but you can take notes. That cog, there, that’s the heart of the transformation mechanism that actually switches out the user’s clothes for the disguise they’ve picked. That computing unit runs the scanner that _measures_ the user—of course, I’ve made all the disguises myself, they’re fitted to me, but I’ve got the measurement scanner built in just in case I happen to have backup or something.”

For the next twenty minutes Stingy was in a frenzy of note-taking, religiously copying down everything Robbie told him until, at last, only one part of the machine’s internal workings remained unexplained. It didn’t even take _prompting_ for him to say, “And what about _those?_ The, the tubes there?”

“ _Those_ are for the pipe organ.”

“The _what?_ ”

“Remember what I said yesterday about style?” Robbie hefted the hatch cover back on and screwed it into place. “ _That_ is what the pipe organ is for. You know how to play piano, kid?”

Stingy blinked. “I know some basic piano. My father insisted on it, he says it’s the basis of music theory, but mostly I play bass. And soprano recorder.”

“Good, basic piano’s plenty. Come on, up on the platform, we’ll have a demo.”

Up to the platform, and Robbie worried vaguely about whether or not he’d gotten everything right as he walked Stingy through steps that _he_ barely thought about anymore, he’d been doing them for so long.

“Set that dial to four—all right, yes, now play something. Whatever you know that sounds dramatic, one-handed is fine, and pull the lever just as you’re finishing.”

“Ok…” Stingy peered seriously at the keyboard for a moment before starting to play.

It was strange not being the one using the machine, because Robbie found that when he was just _watching_ it work it was easy to forget how fast it was. Case in point—he barely had time to say, “Kid, is that _Bach?_ ” before the kid in question was spinning in a blurry circle, and then he forgot to repeat the question at all because when the spinning stopped Stingy was so dizzy that he nearly fell off the platform. Which was why it had a guard-rail, but if Robbie let some _child_ get a _concussion_ then Sportacus might actually get _mad_ at him, so he had to catch the little gremlin before he stumbled too far and fell down the steps.

Finally Stingy got his balance back, look down at himself, and let out a startled squawking noise that cracked abruptly in the middle. “I look like you!”

“Yeah, yeah, except different colors. You know how hard it was to find where I’d put the green silk? Gold I have plenty of, green not so much.” Robbie sniffed and stared off into the distance, because he definitely wasn’t delighted about having a small doppelganger, not at all. “Also there’s a bow-tie. Part of being a _proper_ villain is having a look and _sticking_ to it when you’re not in disguise.”

“You _made_ this? For _me?_ …how did you know it would _fit?_ ”

“I didn’t, I just made something that would have fit _me_ when _I_ was your age. Which turned out to be the right guess, obviously, because I’m a genius. But _yes,_ I made it for _you._ I don’t _like_ children, but if you’re going to be telling all of your horrible little friends about how brilliant and wonderful I am then you might as well have the right outfit for it. Your normal things should be in the hopper that I showed you. What—what are you doing, don’t hug me, hugging is awful, let go, your hair still needs fixing and I can’t do that if you’re _hugging_ me.”

* * *

 

After Stingy had left with a full notebook and newly-styled hair, Robbie flung himself into his chair and stared at the ceiling in a haze of frustration. “What is _happening_ to me?”

_BANG-BANG-BA—_

“Just _come in,_ Sportanut, you’re going to give me a migraine.”

 _Whoosh._ “You don’t actually get migraines, do you? That’s very worrying, you never used to get those.”

Robbie pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was a humorous exaggeration, you fruit loop. What is it _now?_ ”

“Well, I just—”

“Saw Stingy, yes, right, I figured that. What _about_ him?”

“Well, I’m still just really pleased to see you taking an interest in something besides a scheme, but also I wanted to see if you’d be interested in coming over to the school sometime to teach the kids a little about sewing. Miss Couture who teaches home economics says she’s always been very impressed with your work, but she doesn’t know how to find you, so I said I would ask.”

Robbie let go of his nose, but only to start massaging his temples. “You want _me_ to go to the _school_ and teach a bunch of children how to _sew?_ ”

“Just the basics, you know. They’re at a very awkward time of life, lots of growth spurts, it would be good for them to know how to mend their own clothes. Well, Ziggy’s not quite there yet, but he’s going to be.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Doing what?”

“Acting like I’m a good person.”

“You _are_ a good person.”

“I’m really not, I’m a very bad person.”

“You say that, but I just saw a very happy child who clearly thinks otherwise.” Sportacus paused, and then added, innocently, “Also Trixie’s taken up an interest in costuming, which is not something I know very much about. I believe she sewed an entire yard of Shantung silk to her gym shorts by accident last week.”

Robbie started upwards so violently that he toppled out of his chair and landed on the floor, where he lay, on his back, staring in despair at the ceiling. “Pigtails? Who on _earth_ would let that creature near _Shantung silk?_ She’s a vandal of the first order! That’s good material! It takes skill to work with _any_ slippery fabric, let alone—oh, god.” He covered his face with his hands. “That’s an actual tragedy.”

“So you’ll come in for a lesson sometime?”

“I hate you.” He didn’t put his hands down. He was going to lie on the floor until Sportacus left. “When do they have class?”

“Fridays at one, that’s when Miss Couture can make it over from Miser Town.”

“Tell the blasted woman I’ll be there next Friday.”

“Robbie, that’s perfect! Next Friday is Careers Day, you can see Stingy’s presentation.”

“Of course. Of course I can.”

“Most of the adults won’t be there, of course, they have work, but I’ll be there to watch too. So it won’t be just you.”

“Yes, certainly, of _course_ you’ll be there too.” Robbie groaned, peering through his fingers at Sportacus’ beaming face. “Now get out of my house before I agree to anything else.”

* * *

 

Stingy was _happy to see him._ Him! Robbie shuffled into the back of the classroom behind Sportacus and the little gremlin saw him and _smiled._ And waved! It was positively unnatural. Children didn’t smile when they saw him. Generally they were horrified.

He waved back, because the _other_ children were staring at him, and then sank into a chair. He hadn’t enjoyed school when he was _going;_ he certainly wasn’t thrilled to be in a classroom _now._ Sportacus sat down next to him, eerily calm—probably didn’t want to _disrupt_ things, because the elf actually believed in politeness—and said, very quietly, “I’m very glad you decided to come today.”

“Oh, shut up. I’m not here to make _you_ happy, I’m just making sure that I’m being _properly represented_ before I have to spend time trying to _teach_ these creatures.” He thought about it for a moment. “Although I _am_ pleased that he wore the outfit I made. Not because it makes _him_ happy, obvious, it’s just a good example of tailoring for the class later.”

“Whatever you say, Robbie.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Sportajock.”

He tuned out most of the presentations. _Especially_ Cookie Boy talking for ten straight minutes about Sportacus.

Then Stingy got up in front of the class, cleared his throat, adjusted his bowtie, and started with, “For _my_ Careers Day Project, _I_ interviewed Mr. Robbie _Rotten,_ who is a _villain._ ”

His presentation took a full twenty minutes. He covered the difference between crime and villainy, manner, disguises, devices, drama, _hair care…_ there were slides. Two of them were devoted entirely to proper net use. A third one covered appropriate use of both rhyme and shouting.

Robbie had a feeling in his chest. At first it seemed to be a particularly powerful attack of acid reflux, which struck him as poor timing. After a moment, though, he realized that it was pride. It felt wrong, and he hated it, but there it was. But he certainly wasn’t proud of _Stingy,_ no, obviously not, because he hated children. He was proud of _himself_ for having explained everything so clearly. That was it.

He clapped along with Sportacus and the other children when the presentation was over, feeling unnervingly happy.

_What’s happening to me? Why am I **happy** in the presence of these nauseating adolescents?_

“Robbie,” Sportacus murmured as the teacher resumed her place at the head of the classroom to review the last math assignment before they all moved down the corridor for home economics, “would you mind if I stuck around for the sewing lesson?”

“You don’t have to supervise me, elf, I’m not going to poison them or anything.”

“Of course not! You wouldn’t do that.” Sportacus radiated a sincerity so powerful that it was almost blinding. “Only one of my uniforms is wearing out, and I’d appreciate a refresher before I try to make myself a new one.”

Robbie squinted at him, trying to figure out if the elf had somehow finally figured out how to lie, and then said, “Oh, all _right._ But no flips, I can’t concentrate with you bouncing around.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Robbie, doing a flip while operating a sewing machine would be very dangerous. It would set a bad example for the children.”

* * *

 

Miss Couture was a tiny, pretty woman with a mass of red curls and carefully manicured nails, and she shook Robbie’s hand with genuine enthusiasm. “The mysterious Robbie Rotten! It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Rotten, I’ve always been impressed with your tailoring work.”

He stared down at the hand gripping his. “Well. Yes. Of course you are, I’m the best.”

She giggled and fluttered her eyelashes. “So I hear. I really _do_ appreciate you coming in today.”

Was she flirting with him?

“Maybe after school lets out we can get some coffee and you can tell me a little more about yourself.”

She _was_ flirting with him. How bizarre. “Well—” _Free food and flattery are always nice,_ said the one remaining part of his brain that wasn’t descending into madness. The rest of his brain, the part that _was_ descending into madness, had gotten distracted by the sight of Sportacus listening intently as Pixel showed him some homework assignment. “No, I don’t have the time today. Another time, maybe.”

The infernal woman _giggled_ again, what on earth was she giggling at now? “ _I_ see. That’s quite all right, Mr. Rotten, I’ll take a rain check.” She whirled around to face the class and clapped. “Good afternoon, everyone, it’s nice to see you this week!”

There was a variable chorus of, “Hi, Miss Couture,” in reply.

“Today I’ll be stepping aside to let Mr. Rotten teach, he’s very kindly agreed to give you all a sewing lesson.”

There was audible murmuring from the children, and from Pigtails a loud snort. “ _He_ agreed to _teach?_ What, did you _blackmail_ him?”

Miss Couture said, _“Trixie!”_

Stingy, rather gratifyingly, said, “Shut up, Trixie,” and then adjusted his bow-tie.

Robbie drew himself up to his full height. “She did not _blackmail_ me. I came because I heard that _someone_ managed to ruin fifty dollars’ worth of good material by sewing it to their _gym_ shorts.”

He expected her to look abashed, and she did, but only very briefly. Then she just shrugged. “Ok, yeah, that did happen. Good point.”

 _“Anyway.”_ He rolled his neck and shook out his wrists. “We will _start_ with how to thread a sewing machine.”

* * *

 

“I’ll be back next week to cover simple hand-sewing and some basic decorative stitches. And if I find that in the interim anyone has ruined any more _expensive material,_ I’ll hang the offender from the ceiling by their toes.”

Trixie grinned at him. “By the toes. You got it.”

He snorted. “Don’t grin at me, you hooligan.”

“Ooh, hooligan’s an upgrade, my mom normally just goes with ‘rascal’ and leaves it at that.”

The bell rang. “Oh good, I’m fairly sure that awful noise means that you’re all going to go away now.”

The children hurried out, shouting and joyful, but Stingy hung back. He waited for a moment, fidgeting, before saying, “Thank you for coming to see my presentation, Mr. Rotten.”

“Of course I came to see it, need to make sure I’m not being misrepresented.” The horrible thing that was wrong with him stirred, and after a moment he added, “It was very good, I was impressed. Lots of details. And you styled your own hair very successfully. I’m proud of you. _And_ you’re hugging again, why does this keep happening to me?”

When Stingy had gone after his friends, Robbie looked up and saw that Sportacus was watching him, arms folded on his chest, smiling. “I thought that was a very good class, Robbie! I’m very happy that you’ll be coming back next week for another one.”

“Leave me alone, elf.” Robbie pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Maybe this was all a terrible dream. Maybe he’d wake up in five minutes and everything would be sane and reasonable again. “Next thing you’ll be asking me to chaperone the school dance or something.”

“Oh, right, yes, would you? It’s a multi-school function, Lazy Town only needs to bring two chaperones, but pretty much all the parents have very tight schedules. So I thought maybe you might be interested.”

Robbie sagged. “I’m sure you did.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not for three months.” Sportacus smiled brightly at him. “You’ve got plenty of time to think about it.”

* * *

 

One more sewing lesson to suffer through, and suffer Robbie did. He was _pleased_ when he saw that the children had practiced over the course of the week. He tried desperately to suppress the warm feeling that built up in his chest when at the end of the lesson Ziggy gave him a purple handkerchief with a neatly hand-stitched decorative border in pink. He grumbled, and he snarled, and he told them they’d improved and were doing good work, and when he went home he found himself smiling for no apparent reason and it was awful.

He got two and a half months of blessed, glorious silence in which the children left him alone and Sportacus didn’t show up to smile at him and ask him to do things. He loved it.

Or, well, he tried to love it.

The house felt very empty and quiet. When had that stopped being a thing that he enjoyed?

* * *

 

_Tap-tap-tap._

Pause.

_Tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap._

Pause.

_Tap-tap._

Robbie sat bolt upright in his chair and looked at the clock. Who on _earth_ was knocking at ten o’clock at night? It couldn’t be Sportadip, he always went to bed at eight.

Sleepy and confused, he pulled his robe on over his pajamas, climbed up the chute, and shivered as he popped up into the snowy night. “Do you have any _idea_ what time it is? …Stingy, what are you doing here?”

Stingy sniffed and wiped his nose on a handkerchief that Robbie had helped him make in class. “I had a fight with my parents.”

“What could you be fighting with them about that would make you come _here?_ And why didn’t you take your coat? It’s snowing out, you’ll get hypothermia.”

“Dad was upset that I asked Pixel to go to the dance with me.”

Robbie stared at him for a moment and then said, “Well, that’s ridiculous. Now come inside before you freeze to death, I’ll make some cocoa.”

* * *

 

Sportacus climbed down the chute the next morning as quietly as he could, landing with a soft _thwap_ on the stone floor. He glanced around, frowning, and then spotted Robbie, asleep slumped over at a work table with his head pillowed on his arms.

Robbie opened an eye as soon as Sportacus touched his shoulder, but didn’t sit up. “I heard you as soon as you came in, elf. What do you want?”

“Have you seen Stingy? He had a fight with his parents last night and ran out of the house, they’re very frightened.”

“I’m sure they are. They’re idiots.” Robbie jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “He’s over there.”

Sportacus looked over at where he was pointing and saw Stingy curled up in the orange armchair, wrapped in several blankets and an enormous down coat. On the little table next to him were an empty mug and a plate with the remains of a slice of cake.

“You ought to talk to them, there are much more worthwhile things to be upset about then who he wants to go to dances with. Like his tendency to go running around in the snow without a coat on.”

Sportacus blinked. “Dances? Who does he want to go to the dance with?”

“Pixel.”

“That’s wonderful!”

“Tell that to Mr. Spendthrift.”

“Ah. You know, I think I will. Pixel is a very nice boy. Stephanie is going with Trixie, I think they’re making themselves matching dresses. All of the kids have been practicing their sewing a lot.”

Robbie yawned. “Just do _something_ about it, will you? I sleep badly enough as it is without children knocking on my door in the middle of the night, and I don’t feel like yelling at a bank manager today.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m not worried. I never worry about anything.”

“Of course not.” Sportacus smiled at him. “Thank you for looking after Stingy, that was very kind of you.”

“I’m not kind,” Robbie said, even though he was clearly falling asleep again. “I’m extremely villainous.”

“I believe you.”

“You better. Go away, Sportacus.”

“Hey, you said my actual name!”

Robbie snored at him.

* * *

 

Through some mechanism that was entirely incomprehensible to Robbie, this ended up with him wearing a suit, standing next to Sportacus, and staring out at a gymnasium full of teenagers. “I can’t believe people _enjoy_ this music. I can’t believe I’m _doing_ this.”

“I really appreciate your company!” Sportacus looked up at him with a smile like a sunlamp. It warmed the gymnasium by several degrees. Robbie was surprised that there weren’t government regulations on smiles like that. “The geography teacher from over in Mayhem Town keeps flirting with me, it’s very awkward.”

“What, and you thought _I_ was somehow a good shield against this? Anyway why would that be awkward? She seems like a…tolerable woman.”

“She is, she’s very nice, but I’ve been trying to explain to her that I’m interested in someone else and she doesn’t seem to get it.”

Robbie thought about that for a moment, put together several pieces, and then decided that he wasn’t going to look at the picture they made even though most of him very much wanted to. Instead he said, “Trixie did very well on her dress. I appreciate the holster for the slingshot.”

“She thought you would, you should tell her so. She’d be very happy to know that you approve.”

“Why would she want _my_ approval?”

“Because you taught her how to sew and she likes you. They all do. Stingy wore the bowtie you made him, did you notice?”

He hadn’t noticed, but he looked across the room to where Stingy and Pixel were awkwardly trying to slow-dance and there it was, a little glimmer of gold at Stingy’s throat. “Oh. That’s.” His throat felt strange. “That’s very nice.”

The sunlamp was back. “Here, why don’t we go get some air, it’s very loud in here. They can spare us for a few minutes.”

“Sure, yes. I need to get out of this room.”

At some point while they were making their way outside Robbie looked down and realized that he and Sportacus were holding hands. He had some vague idea that he’d initiated it, and considered letting go, but Sportacus’ hand was pleasantly warm in his, so he decided not to. All very logical. Nothing to do with the madness he’d slowly been descending into, the one that made him tell children he was proud of them and call Sportacus by his actual name.

There was a full moon out. It occurred to him that if they hadn’t been in a parking lot it would have been very romantic, and that even _in_ a parking lot it was sort of romantic, which was probably why he was standing there kissing an elf and not feeling ridiculous about it.

The kissing was interrupted by a delighted giggle, and they looked up to see Miss Couture standing there, wearing a very stylish green coat and looking pleased. “I suppose there are always adults at these things who need chaperones too.”

“Oh, go away.”

“Robbie, that wasn’t very polite,” Sportacus said mildly as Miss Couture walked away.

“I’m not polite. I’m a villain. I’m not supposed to be polite.”

“That’s true. And I suppose she doesn’t seem very upset about it. So are you going to kiss me again or do I only get one?”

“I don’t understand any of what’s happening to me,” Robbie muttered, and kissed him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Share, enjoy, and please leave me a comment if you enjoyed the story! ^_^


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